Nineteen years of age. Nineteen! For the last twelvemonth, since the completion of my education, I had helped in the school as one of the governesses. The Miss Barlieus, whose connexion was extensive amidst the English as well as the French, had undertaken the responsibility of "placing me out," as my trustees phrased it. When I was eighteen their task, as trustees, was over, and the annuity I had enjoyed ceased. Henceforth I had no friends in the world but the Miss Barlieus: and truly kind and good those ladies were to me.

I was attacked with an illness soon after my eighteenth birthday: not a severe one, but lasting tolerably long; and that had caused me to remain the additional twelvemonth, for which I received a slight salary. They liked me, and I liked them.

So I was to be a governess after all! The last descendant of the Herefords and the Keppe-Carews had no home in the world, no means of living, and must work for them. My pride rebelled against it now, as it never had when I was a child; and I made a resolution never to talk of my family. I was an orphan; I had no relatives living: that would be quite enough answer when asked about it. Keppe-Carew had again changed masters: a little lad of eight, whose dead father I had never seen, and who perhaps had never heard of me, was its owner now.

I had never heard a syllable of Mr. Edwin Barley since I left him, or of any of his household, or of the events that had taken place there. That George Heneage had never been traced, I knew; that Mr. Edwin Barley was still seeking after him, I was quite sure: the lapse of years could not abate the anger of a man like him. Mrs. Hemson was dead now, a twelvemonth past; so that I was entirely alone in the world. As to the will, it had not been found, as was to be supposed, or the money would have been mine. My growth in years, the passing from the little girl into the woman, and the new ties and interests of my foreign school life had in a degree obliterated those unhappy events, and I scarcely ever gave even a thought to the past.

Mr. and Mrs. Paler were staying temporarily at Nulle; well-connected English people, about to fix their residence in Paris. They were strangers to me personally, but the Miss Barlieus knew something of their family, and we heard that Mrs. Paler was inquiring for a governess; one who spoke thoroughly English, French, and German. Mademoiselle Annette thought it might suit me, and proposed to take me to call on them at the Lion d\'Or hotel.

I seized upon the idea eagerly. The word Paris had wrought its own charm. To be conveyed to that city of delight appeared only secondary to entering within the precincts of a modern Elysium.

"Oh, Mademoiselle Annette, pray let us go! I might perhaps do for them."

Mademoiselle Annette laughed at the eagerness so unequivocally betrayed. But she set off with me the same day.

The Lion d\'Or was full. Mr. and Mrs. Paler had no private sitting-room (there were only two salons in the whole house), and we were ushered into their chamber, French fashion. Mr. Paler was a stout man in gold spectacles, shy and silent; his wife, a tall handsome woman with large eyes and dark hair, talked enough for both. Some conversation ensued, chiefly taken up by Mrs. Paler explaining the sort of governess she wished for, Mr. Paler having quitted us.

"If you require a completely well-educated young lady--a gentlewoman in every sense of the term--you cannot do better than engage Miss Hereford," said Mademoiselle Annette.

"But what\'s her religion?" abruptly asked Mrs. Paler. "I would not admit a Roman Catholic into the bosom of my family; no, not though she paid me to come. Designing Jesuits, as a great many of them are!"

"Which, considering she was speaking to a Roman Catholic, and that a moment\'s consideration might have told her she was, evinced anything but courtesy on the lady\'s part, to say nothing of good feeling. Mademoiselle Annette\'s brown cheek deepened, and so did mine.

"I belong to the Church of England, madam," I answered.

"And with regard to singing?" resumed Mrs. Paler, passing to another qualification unceremoniously. "Have you a fine voice?--a good style?--can you teach it well?"

"I sing but little, and should not like to teach it. Neither am I a very brilliant player. I have no great forte for music. What I do play I play well, and I can teach it well."

"There it is! Was there ever anything so tiresome?" grumbled Mrs. Paler. "I declare you cannot have everything, try as you will. Our last governess was first-rate in music--quite a divine voice she had--and her style perfect; but, of all the barbarous accents in French and German (not to speak of her wretched grammar), hers were the worst. Now, you are a good linguist, but no hand at music! What a worry it is!"

"May I ask what age your children are?" interposed Mademoiselle Annette, who could speak sufficient English to understand and join in the conversation.

"The eldest is twelve."

"Then I can assure you Miss Hereford is quite sufficient musician for what you will want at present, madam. It is not always the most brilliant players who are the best instructors; our experience has taught us the contrary is the case."

Mrs. Paler mused. "Does Miss Hereford draw?"

"Excellently well," replied Mademoiselle Annette.

"I have a great mind to try her," debated Mrs. Paler, as if soliloquizing with herself. "But I must just pay my husband the compliment of asking what he thinks: though I never allow any opinion of his to influence me. He is the shyest man! he went out, you saw, as you came in. I am not sure but he will think Miss Hereford too good looking; but she has a very dignified air with her, though her manners are charmingly simple."

"When you have considered the matter, madam, we shall be glad to receive your answer," observed Mademoiselle Annette, as she rose. And Mrs. Paler acquiesced.

"Anne," began Mademoiselle Annette, as we walked home, "I do not think that situation will suit you. You will not be comfortable in it."

"But why?" I asked, feeling my golden visions of Paris dimmed by the words. "I think it would perfectly suit me, Mademoiselle."

"Madame Paler is not a nice lady; she is not a gentlewoman. I question, too, if she would make you comfortable."

"I am willing to risk it. You and Mademoiselle Barlieu have told me all along that I cannot expect everything."

"That is true, my child. Go where you will, you must look out for disagreeables and crosses. The lives of all of us are made up of trials; none, save ourselves, can feel them; few, save ourselves, can see, or will believe in them. Many a governess, tossed and turned about in the world\'s tempest, weary of her daily task, sick of its monotony, is tempted, no doubt, to say, \'Oh that I were established as the Demoiselles Barlieu are, with a home and school of my own!\' But I can tell you, Anne, that often and often I and my sister envy the lot of the poorest governess out on her own account, because she is free from anxiety."

She spoke truly. Every individual lot has its peculiar trials, and none can mitigate them. "The heart knoweth its own bitterness." I walked on by her side then, in my young inexperience, wondering whether all people had these trials, whether they would come to me. It was my morning of life, when the unseen future looks as a bright and flowery dream. Mademoiselle Annette broke the silence.

"You will never forget, my dear, that you have a friend in us. Should you meet with any trouble, should you be at any time out of a situation, come to us; our house is open to you."

"Thank you, thank you, dear Mademoiselle Annette," I replied, grasping her hand. "I will try and do brave battle with the world\'s cares; I have not forgotten my mother\'s lessons."

"Anne," she gravely responded, "do not battle: rather welcome them."

Well, I was engaged. And, as the Demoiselles Barlieu observed, it was not altogether like my entering the house of people entirely strange, for they were acquainted with the family of Mr. Paler: himself they had never before seen, but two of his sisters had been educated in their establishment.

A week or two after the Palers had settled themselves in Paris, I was escorted thither by a friend of the Miss Barlieus. The address given me was Avenue de St. Cloud, Commune de Passy. We found it a good-looking, commodious house, and my travelling protector, Madame Bernadotte, left me at the door. A young girl came forward as I was shown into a room.

"Are you Miss Hereford, the new governess?"

"Yes. I think I have had the pleasure of seeing you at Nulle," I answered, holding out my hand to her.

"That I\'m sure you\'ve not. I never was at Nulle. It was Kate and Harriet who went there with papa and mamma. I and Fanny and Grace came straight here last week from England, with nurse."

Now, strange to say, it had never occurred to me or to the Miss Barlieus to ask Mrs. Paler, during the negotiations, how many pupils I should have. Two children were with them at Nulle, Kate and Harriet, and I never supposed that there were others; I believed these would be my only pupils.

"How many are you, my dear?"

"Oh, we are five.

"Am I to teach you all?"

"Of course. There\'s nobody else to teach us. And we have two little brothers, but they are quite in the nursery."

Had Mrs. Paler purposely concealed the number? or had it been the result of inadvertence? The thought that came over me was, that were I engaging a governess for five pupils, I should take care to mention that there were five. They came flocking round me now, every one of them, high-spirited, romping girls, impatient of control, their ages varying from six to twelve.

"Mamma and papa are out, but I don\'t suppose they\'ll be long. Do you want to see mamma?"

"I shall be glad to see her?

"Do you wish for anything to eat?" inquired Miss Paler. You can have what you like: dinner or tea; you have only to ring and order it. "We have dined and had tea also. Mamma has not; but you don\'t take your meals with her."

As she spoke, some noise was heard in the house, and they all ran out. It proved to be Mrs. Paler. She went up to her own sitting-room, and thither I was summoned.

"So you have got here safely, Miss Hereford?" was her salutation, spoken cordially enough. But she did not offer to shake hands with me.

"I have been making acquaintance with my pupils, madam. I did not know there were so many."

"Did you not? Oh, you forget; I have no doubt I mentioned it."

"I think not. I believed that the two Miss Palers I saw at Nulle were your only children."

"My only children! Good gracious, Miss Hereford, what an idea! Why, I have seven! and have lost two, which made nine, and shall have more yet, for all I know. You will take the five girls; five are as easily taught as two."

"I did not dispute the words. I had come, intending and hoping to do my duty to the very utmost extent, whether it might be much or little. Though certainly the five pupils did look formidable in prospective, considering that I should have to teach them everything, singing excepted.

"I hope you will suit me," went on Mrs. Paler. "I have had many qualms of doubt since I engaged you. But I can\'t beat them into Mr. Paler; he turns round, and politely tells me they are \'rubbish,\' as any heathen might."

"Qualms of doubt as to my being but nineteen, or to my skill in music?" I asked.

"Neither; your age I never made an objection, and I daresay your music will do very well for the present. Here\'s Mr. Paler."

He came in, the same apparently shy, silent, portly man as at Nulle, in his gold spectacles. But he came up kindly to me, and shook hands.

"My doubts turn upon serious points, Miss Hereford," pursued Mrs. Paler. "If I thought you would undermine the faith of my children and imbue them with Roman Catholic doctrines----"

"Mrs. Paler!" I interrupted in surprise. "I told you I was a Protestant, brought up strictly in the tenets of the Church of England. Your children are of the same faith: there is little fear, then, that I should seek to undermine it. I know of none better in the world."

"You must excuse my anxiety, Miss Hereford. Can you conscientiously assure me that you hate all Roman Catholics?"

"I looked at her in amazement. And she looked at me, waiting for my answer. A smile, unless I mistook, crossed the lips of Mr. Paler.

"Oh, Mrs. Paler, what would my own religion be worth if I could hate? Believe me there are excellent Christians amidst the Roman Catholics, as there are amidst us. People who are striving to do their duty in this world, living and working on for the next. Look at the Miss Barlieus! I love them dearly every one respects them: but I would not change my religion for theirs.

"Is it the fact of your having spent four years in their house that makes me doubtful. But I think can trust you; you look so sincere and true. The alarming number of converts to Romanism which we have of late years been obliged to witness, must make us all fearful."

"Perverts, if you please," interrupted Mr. Paler. "When I hear of our folks going over to the Romish faith, I always suspect they are those who have not done their duty in their own. A man may find all he wants in his own religion, if he only looks out for it."

"Oh, that\'s very true," I exclaimed, my eyes sparkling, glad, somehow, to hear him say it. "It is what I have been trying to express to Mrs. Paler."

"She has got her head full of some nonsensical fear that her children should be turned into Roman Catholics--I suppose because we are in a Catholic country," he resumed, looking at his wife through his glasses. "She\'ll talk about it till she turns into one herself, if she doesn\'t mind; that\'s the way the mania begins. There\'s no more fear of sensible people turning Catholics than there is of my turning Dutchman: as to the children, the notion is simply absurd. And what sort of weather have you had at Nulle, Miss Hereford, since we left it?"

"Not very fine. Yesterday it poured with rain all day."

"Ah. That would make it pleasant for travelling, though."

"Yes: it laid the dust."

"Did you travel alone?"

"Oh, no; the Miss Barlieus would not have allowed it. It is not etiquette in France for a young lady to go out even for a walk alone. An acquaintance of Miss Barlieus, Madame Bernadotte, who was journeying to Paris, accompanied me."

"Well, I hope you will be comfortable here," he concluded.

"Thank you; I hope so."

"And look here, I\'ll give you a hint. Just you get the upper hand of those children at once, or you\'ll never do it. They are like so many untrained colts."

Nothing more was said. I had not been asked to sit, and supposed the silence was a hint that I must quit the room. Before I had got far, a servant came and said I was to go back to it. Mrs. Paler was alone then, looking very solemn and dark.

"Miss Hereford, you have been reared in seclusion, mostly in school, and probably know little of the convenances--the exactions of social life. Do not be offended if I set you right upon a point--I have no doubt you have erred, not from want of respect, but from lack of knowledge."

What had I done? of course I said I should be obliged to her to set me right in anything when found wrong.

"You are a governess; you hold a dependent situation in my house. Is it not so?"

"Certainly it is," I answered, wondering much.

"Then never forget that a certain amount of respect in manner is due to myself and to Mr. Paler. I do not, of course, wish to exact the deference a servant would give--you must understand that; but there\'s a medium: a medium, Miss Hereford. To you, I and Mr. Paler are \'madam\' and \'sir,\' and I beg that we may be always addressed as such."

I curtsied and turned away, the burning colour dyeing my face. It was my first lesson in dependence. But Mrs. Paler was right; and I felt vexed to have forgotten that I was only a governess. Misplaced rebellion rose in my heart, whispering that I was a lady born; that my family was far higher in the social world than Mr. or Mrs. Paler\'s; whispering, moreover, that that lady was not a gentlewoman, and never could be one. But after a few minutes spent in sober reflection, common sense chased away my foolish thoughts, leaving in place a firm resolution never so to transgress again. From that hour, I took up my position bravely--the yielding, dependent, submissive governess.

But what a life of toil I entered upon! and--where were my dreams of Paris? Have you forgotten that they had visited me, in all their beautiful delusion? I had not. Delusive hopes are always the sweetest.

When I had stayed three months at Mrs. Paler\'s I had never once been into Paris further than the Champs Elysées. Save that we went every Sunday morning in a closed carriage to the Ambassador\'s chapel, I saw nothing of Paris. The streets may have been of crystal, the fountains of malachite marble, the houses of burnished gold, for all I witnessed of them--and I believe my warm imagination had pictured something of the like resplendence. There was no pleasure for me; no going out; my days were one lasting scene of toil.

I am not going to complain unjustly of Mrs. Paler\'s situation, or make it out worse than it was. It has become much the fashion of late years--I may say a mania--to set forth the sorrows and ill-treatment that governesses have to endure: were the other side of the question to be taken up, it might be seen that ladies have as much to bear from governesses. There are good places and there are bad ones; and there are admirable governesses, as well as undesirable and most incapable ones: perhaps the good and bad, on both sides are about balanced. I was well-treated at Mr. Paler\'s; I had a generous diet, and a maid to wait upon me in conjunction with the two elder girls. When they had visitors in an evening, I was admitted on an equality (at any rate to appearance); I had respect paid me by the servants; and I was not found fault with by Mr. and Mrs. Paler. Could I desire better than this? No. But I was overworked.

Put it to yourselves what it was, if you have any experience in teaching. Five girls, all in different stages of advancement, to learn everything, from German and good English down to needle-work. The worst task was the music; the drawing lessons I could give conjointly. All five learnt it, piano and harp, and two of them, the second and the youngest but one, were so wild and unsteady that they could not be trusted to practise one instant alone. I rose every morning at half-past six to begin the music lessons, and I was usually up until twelve or one o\'clock the next morning correcting exercises, for I could not find time to do them during the day. "Make time," says somebody. I could only have made it by neglecting the children.

"Our last governess never did a thing after six in the evening," Kate said to me one day. "You should not be so particular, Miss Hereford."

"But she did not get you on to your mamma\'s satisfaction."

"No, indeed: mamma sent her away because of that. She did not care whether we advanced or not. All she cared for was to get the studies over anyhow."

Just so: it had been eye-service, as I could have told by their ignorance when I took the girls in hand. My dear mother had enjoined me differently: "Whatever you undertake, Anne, let it be done to the very best of your ability: do it as to God; as though His eye and ear were ever present with you."

I appealed to Mrs. Paler: telling her I could not continue to work as I was doing, and asking what could be done.

"Oh, nonsense, Miss Hereford, you must be a bad economizer of time," she answered. &quo............